'The chef, sir,' Bathyllus said, as if I might not recognise him without expert help. No names, either: we were definitely not on speaking terms here.
'Right, right.' I filled up my wine cup. 'Fine. Buttle off and polish the spoons, Bathyllus, okay?'
Bathyllus sniffed and left. Meton was grinning. 'You liked the dinner?' he said to me. No 'sir', you notice; I don't get a 'sir' from Meton all that often, and when I do I check for sarcasm.
'It wasn't bad.' That was an understatement: it'd been bloody excellent as always, which was why we hadn't traded the culinarily-fixated bastard in for a handful of beans years ago. Still, I wasn't going to tell Meton that. The guy had an ego the size of the Capitol. Bigger. 'New recipes?'
'Yeah. That's what I wanted to see you about, boss.' His eyes took on a manic gleam. 'I was especially pleased with the capon. In case you didn't notice, the sauce was made with walnuts, prunes, dried figs, green olives, cloves, sour cream and vinegar. You stuff–'
'Meton, please.' I held up a hand. 'Fascinating and informative as this is, pal, I hope it's not why you asked to see me. Because if it is then I'm afraid the next thing to be stuffed will be –'
'Marcus!' Perilla snapped. The Princess was watching with wide eyes.
'Yeah, well.'
Meton was looking hurt. 'You mean you're really not interested?' he said. From his tone of voice it sounded like I'd just scored the double of committing mass murder and passing up a threesome with Helen of Troy and Cleopatra. Maybe by his way of thinking I had.
I sighed. 'Meton, listen. I've had a hard day, right? It may have slipped past you but we've had three murders around here recently and I'm trying to find out who's responsible before we have a fourth. Indeed at present a fourth is very much on the cards, although there won't be any connection between it and the other three. Do I make myself clear?'
'But that's what it's about!' The guy was flexing his huge fingers in agitation like they were two bunches of hairy bananas. 'I got the recipes from Tutia!'
'And who the hell's Tutia?'
'Gnaeus Vipena's cook.'
Hey! I sat back. 'Okay,' I said. 'You've got the floor.'
'Tutia has a lot of old Etruscan recipes, you see.' There went the eyes again. 'Boar marinated with juniper, oak and laurel, jugged hare and beechnut stuffing, that kind of thing. Did you know that the Etruscans used the gall bladder of the sturgeon to–?'
Oh, hell! 'Meton, skip the inessentials, will you, please?' I said. 'That means' – I spelled it out, because otherwise the guy wouldn't've got me in a million years – 'anything whatsoever to do with food and cooking. Right?'
He was staring at me in disbelief. 'You're sure?' he said.
'As tomorrow's sunrise. Trust me. It's better that way.'
'All right. So long as you're absolutely certain.' He paused. 'But this sturgeon's gall bladder, boss. They used it to –'
'Meton!'
He fizzed a bit, then said: 'She overheard an argument. Between her boss and Attus Navius.'
I sat up. 'When was this?'
'Five days ago.'
Shit; that would be two days before Navius was killed! 'You want to give me the details?' I said.
'She didn't hear much, just scraps. She was in the kitchen and that's well away from the living room. But Attus Navius was shouting and some words came through. There was something about wine; that came up a few times. Navius called Vipena an old hypocrite. And she heard a name, Tolumnius.'
'That's all?'
'All she told me, boss.'
Bugger! Ah, well. It was better than nothing, and all the more so for being unexpected. 'Who's Tolumnius? She know?'
'No. She's only been in the household a month. She isn't a slave, she's a freedwoman from Fidenae.'
'Right. Thanks, Meton,' I said. 'You've been a great help.' He turned to go. 'Uh, hang on, pal. Just as a matter of interest, what's this Tutia like?'
He looked puzzled. 'I told you. She knows a lot of old Etruscan recipes.'
Gods! Did we talk the same language, or what? 'No, I mean physically. She young? Old? Have her own teeth and both legs?' I paused; I could see I wasn't getting through here. 'Married? Single?'
'Early middle age. And she's a widow.'
Oh, Priapus! 'Uh-huh. And how did you meet her?'
'She sent round a note saying that she had a lot of old...'
'Etruscan recipes. Yeah. And would you like to come round and see them some time. Right. Got you.' I didn't believe this; nobody could be that simple, nobody! 'Fine. Now bugger off, sunshine, okay?' Meton wandered back bemusedly in the direction of his kitchen. Yeah, well. If this Tutia woman had any designs on the guy's chitterlings she'd have her work cut out, that was all I had to say.
Perilla had sat quiet through all this. Now she said: 'Vipena lied to you, didn't he?'
'Sure he did.' I drank what was in my wine cup and topped it up from the jug. 'At least the odds are on it. He told me he and Navius had quarrelled about letting Vipena buy into the water rights for the stream that goes through Navius's property. It didn't sound like that to me. And if Vipena had been the one wanting a favour he would've gone round to Navius's, not the other way round. Something smells, lady. I still don't know what it is, but it's there.'
Something else smelled: me. Whatever the ins and outs of it healthwise after a heavy meal, I needed a sweat in the bath-house. I also needed to vegetate for an hour or so, switch off so I could sleep. Tomorrow was another day, and it was going to be busy.
It only occurred to me when I was lying on the bench in the hot room of Flatworm's bath suite that I'd forgotten to mention to Perilla the business of the horse.
18.
The next morning after a fairly leisurely breakfast I went to pay another call on Navius's mother. I took the back way round, up Clusinus's track, just to check the bits and pieces of sightings I'd missed. The first was seeing whether the spot where Navius was murdered and the track up to it was visible from the higher ground, although that was pretty academic now, since it was only relevant to the theory that Clusinus had been the murderer. The answer was no and yes: because of the contours and the intervening trees and bushes I couldn't see the actual site of the murder from any point along the hill track, but most of Clusinus's road itself was overlooked.
The second sighting, the irrigation pond, was more important. I knew from what Marilla had said that you could actually see it from higher up, but not for how long. In fact, it wasn't so bad as I'd thought: Marilla must've been lucky and caught the window between the shoulders of the hills and the undergrowth screen. Even so, it was risky: the time taken for the meeting, the murder and –most of all – the business with the hurdle made it more than likely that there'd be somebody passing who would look down and see what was going on...
Unless Clusinus had been killed before dawn, of course, when no one would be around, or late at night the previous day. The moon wasn't full, but it was past the three-quarters and we hadn't had any cloudy nights. In which case Papatius could've done it either way.
It probably was Papatius. The guy had both motive and opportunity for both murders, and if I couldn't account for Hilarion's then he was as good a suspect as any. Besides, every new twist to the case seemed to point in his direction. On the other hand there was that business with the horse, and Vipena. Which reminded me: I'd promised Vesia that I'd go into Caere and talk to Gaius Aternius. That I wasn't looking forward to, not with Clusinus dead and Papatius very firmly back on the suspect list. Nevertheless, it had to be done, and I could schedule it for the afternoon.
I was above Navius's place by now. I took the branch path off the track and headed down the slopes through the terraced vineyards. They were impressive. Arruns had been right: even I could see that the guy had put a lot of work in. The terracing was in first-class repair, a lot of the drainage and irrigation ditches I passed looked new, and the property looked tight, productive and well-managed. Navius had certainly gone all out, and he'd known his business. F
or the first time I could really appreciate why the traditional vine-growers like Papatius and Vipena were worried: if I'd been a vine-grower I'd be pissing myself.
Wine. Meton's culinary pal Tutia had said that it'd featured strongly in the argument she'd overheard, and that made a lot of sense. As far as Vipena was concerned, Navius's new farming methods were a real threat. But as a motive for murder? The more I saw of the guy's farm the more I was convinced it was possible; more than possible. We were talking financial survival here, and in the country that was everything. Vipena had a motive, sure he did: the evidence was all around me.
'Hypocrite', now, that was another matter: hypocrite I didn't understand at all. And why should Vipena want to kill Clusinus?
Yeah, well; we'd get there eventually, and when we did no doubt everything would make sense. At least I hoped it would. At the moment the case was a pig's breakfast.
Sicinia was having her hair done when I arrived, so I kicked my heels in the atrium until she came down. I thought about what I'd said to Perilla, about the lady being a big fish in a muddy pool. Yeah, that fitted: she wasn't quite in Mother's class, but she was definitely a looker, especially done up as she was this morning and wearing a mantle that must've come straight from the best couturier in Rome and cost her an arm and a leg. Not long after the funeral, either. I wondered how long it'd be before Sicinia Rufina decided she'd had enough of lonely childless widowhood out here in the sticks and branched out. With her money and looks she wouldn't be short of offers...
Something itched at the back of my skull, but when I reached for it it wasn't there any more.
'Valerius Corvinus!' She came over, and I caught the scent of her gold-piece-a-bottle perfume. 'What a pleasant surprise! Were you just passing or did you come specially?'
'The second.' That was some hairdo too, and I noticed the bits of grey I'd seen on my last visit weren't there any more. 'I've got a couple of extra questions to ask. If you don't mind.'
'Not at all.' She indicated a couch: I'd noticed the set as soon as I came in, top-quality antique with gold-leafed carving on the end-boards and purple velvet upholstery. Pricey and tasteful both. 'Do make yourself comfortable. Have you had breakfast? It's a little early for wine.'
'I'm fine, thanks.' Bugger; early, nothing. I could've managed another cup or two of that Falernian, especially after the walk. Still, I was on my best social behaviour. I lay down and she took the matching chair facing. 'I'll try not to take up too much of your time.'
'Oh, I'm quite free. This morning, at least.' She folded her hands in her lap. 'Now. What can I do for you?'
This was going to be tricky. 'I understand your son visited Gnaeus Vipena two days before he died.'
Was that a little hardening of the mouth? I couldn't be sure because of the makeup, and certainly the lady's voice was neutral. 'Yes, he did,' she said.
'You happen to know what they talked about?'
'I'm afraid I don't. Business, certainly. Vipena had been very concerned latterly about the failure of a spring on his property. He wanted to rent a supply from the stream that flows through our own land near the property border. Perhaps the visit was connected with that.'
Hell. So that part of Vipena's story had been true, at least. Still, it would've been unrealistic to have thought otherwise: to be caught in a downright lie would've done Vipena no good at all.
'Your son was willing?' I said.
'No.' She hesitated. 'It's a perennial stream, but there isn't much water at this time of year. Attus needed all the water he could get for our own purposes. He had to refuse.'
'When was this exactly?'
'Some time last month, I believe. Or perhaps two months ago now. Yes, it was July, just after the barley harvest.'
I sat back. Shit! Two months! And Vipena had given the impression, quite deliberately, that it had just happened. There was something out of kilter here after all.
'You think your son might've been reconsidering?'
Sicinia smoothed a fold in her mantle. 'That is very unlikely. He was quite firm about it. However, I can't really think of anything else that Attus would have wanted to discuss with Gnaeus Vipena, and a social visit, as I've indicated, is totally out of the question. He and his sisters really aren't our kind of people, and our connections with them are almost non-existent.'
'What sort of mood was he in when he left, can you remember?'
She frowned. 'It's strange you should ask that, Valerius Corvinus. Attus was...I can only describe his mood as very upset, angry even. Of course he always was a very emotional boy, quite unlike his father in that respect; he felt things too much, if you understand me.'
'And when he came back?'
'That was even more odd, and quite unlike his usual practice. On his return I happened to ask – which I don't always do – how the visit had gone and he categorically refused to discuss it. But whatever the object of the meeting was, it seemed to have been achieved satisfactorily.'
'Uh-huh. He seem happier, then?'
She hesitated. 'No, I wouldn't quite say that; but he gave the impression, as I said, of regarding the matter as closed.'
Hell's teeth; what was I to make of that little lot? It chimed with what Tutia had told Meton, sure: the guy had obviously been fit to be tied when he arrived, and whatever the argument had been with Vipena it'd been violent enough to provoke a shouting match. But why the secrecy where his mother was concerned?'
'Did Attus normally consult you on business matters?' I said.
'Not often, no.' She touched her impeccably-arranged hair absently. 'As I told you on your previous visit I have no interest in or knowledge of the wine business per se. On major issues of policy such as his plans to increase production, yes, of course he consulted me. Personally, I wasn't in favour of that, but my cousin Publius – Publius Holconius the wine-shipper, I think I mentioned him to you – was, most definitely, and I bowed to his opinion. There's a growing niche in the market, you see, for cheaper wines, and being so close to Rome we would be at a definite advantage. It's so sad, though, don't you feel, when quality is sacrificed to quantity, whatever the arguments? The end of an era, almost.'
'One more question. Have you ever heard of a guy called Tolumnius?'
Her brow furrowed. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'Certainly he's no acquaintance of mine, or of Attus's either, as far as I'm aware. In what context?'
'That I'm not sure of. Maybe the wine trade, but it could be anything.'
'Then I'm afraid I can't help you.'
Ah, well: it'd been a shot in the dark, anyway. I got up.
'Thanks for your help,' I said. 'I won't take up any more of your time.'
'Not at all.' She rose and adjusted her mantle. 'It's a pleasure talking to someone from the outside world. Someone with a little...' – she hesitated –'culture.' Jupiter! If Perilla could've heard that! 'And as I said I'm free until Gaius Aternius arrives later this afternoon.'
I paused. 'Aternius?'
'He's an old friend of the family, as I think I told you on your previous visit.' Was she blushing? With the makeup I couldn't say, but certainly her eyes lowered briefly. 'And he's been very kind over this business. Most assiduous.'
'Yeah.' I almost whistled. Given the lady's undoubted attractions, physical and financial, I'd bet the bugger had been just that, especially since his attentions seemed to be so welcome. Still, at least it stopped him from pestering Mother. 'Well, I'll be getting off. Thanks again.'
'Don't mention it.'
She saw me to the door. I was just leaving when a last thought struck me.
'Uh, Sicinia Rufina,' I said, 'forgive a personal question, but your late husband's accident. Where exactly did it happen?'
'He was found on the main road. By the bridge at the edge of Licinius Nepos's estate.'
Bull’s-eye! 'Right. Thanks.'
As the door closed behind me, my brain was buzzing like a hive of bees. Now that had been interesting: the bridge spanned the boundary stream between the s
outhern part of Nepos's land and Quintus Mamilius's property. Definitely food for thought, right?
The news about Aternius had been interesting, too.
19.
I hadn't been into Caere before. As Etruscan towns go it's par for the course: think of a mountain with sides that go straight up far enough to give an eagle migraine, shove a wall round the top, fill the space with houses and the plain either side with fields and tombs and you've got it. Walking around the place, half the time you're going up, the other half you're going down, and there ain't no in-between. No wonder the Etruscans lost out to Rome; the poor buggers were probably too knackered to fight us off.
They must've been pretty good businessmen, mind. The wineshop looked like it went back to the Tarquins, and it was placed just where punters would see it the moment they came through the gate with their tongues trailing the dust from the climb. I crawled up to it, dropped my worn and shattered body into a chair and ordered up a jug of their best. It took me two full cups before I felt with it enough to forget about just breathing and take an interest in the local scenery. Part of which was an evil-looking guy with stubble you could use to grate cheese and a set of teeth like tent-pegs, sitting at the next table.
Sitting grinning at the next table.
'Better?' he said.
'Yeah.' I swallowed half my third cupful. It was good stuff, and it was a mark of how blown I was that I hadn't noticed. 'You got something against visitors in this town, friend?'
'Only when they're Roman. It's a local tradition.'
'Right.' I sank another mouthful and topped up the cup. 'The name's Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.'
'Titus Perennius. You have business here, Corvinus, or are you in Caere for fun?'
I sat back. When she goes to a strange place Perilla likes to get the sights under her belt; temples, statues, libraries, you know the kind of thing. Me, what I like most is to find a good wineshop with good wine and spend the time shooting the breeze with a friendly local. It seemed I'd struck lucky straight off. This guy was obviously a kindred spirit.
Old Bones (Marcus Corvinus Book 5) Page 12
